The Scars Below
by ninjalogan
Summary: A mutant child and potential student for Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters is murdered and Wolverine is sent to find her killer.
1. The Boogeyman

**The Scars Below**

**Author's notes: **_First of all, I want to apologize for anyone that lives in New York or New Jersey, which will be the main setting for this story. I didn't feel like doing a lot of research, and I've never actually been to the Northeastern United States, so a bit of forgiveness if my mapping is a tad off. I mostly searched around for other tourist's stories and tried to form a map of the areas in my head…anyone who's lived in or read about or traveled to New York or New Jersey should probably understand my dilemma of figuring out exactly how the hell I was going to pull off the setting to my story. Of course, the headquarters of the X-Men is set in New York, so I was pretty much screwed if I wanted any interaction whatsoever from other X-Men or Professor Xavier as I went along. Also, I tried my best to leave out any particular mention as to a time frame this story was set in through the course of the Marvel Universe. The only real factors to judge time are the fact that Jubilee is in the story, and Kitty Pride is mentioned as having been trained as a ninja by Wolverine. Other than these two factors, there shouldn't be a definitive reference to any particular point when this story would intersect with the Marvel world. Marvel Comics, the characters Wolverine and any other character involved with X-Men are property of Stan Lee or whoever Stan Lee sold these original ideas to. This story is simply a display of my appreciation and admiration for the characters Stan Lee and his very talented staff at Marvel have developed._

_It ain't easy… A lot o' my close friends think that it is…you know…bein me. Never gettin' sick…not really ever gettin' old…not feelin' my skin tighten with the cold…you know when your hands start gettin' stiff an' yer feet start goin' numb…feels like the cold is burnin' right down to yer bones…right through yer heart. Sure, I've felt it before…but only when my body ain't healin' right…which is rare. Thing is…even though I heal real fast…and never get tired…I still feel pain. Just like any other person, I feel pain. Been through some bad ones…real bad ones…I don't have any scars on the surface…none that can be seen cept' by a choice few who've been in my head. They're there, though...deep ones…some that even **I **haven't healed from yet._

**Chapter 1: The Boogeyman**

New York. Hearing the name makes people think of buildings reaching for the sky, a symbol of freedom from tyranny and religious persecution, The Holland Tunnel, Brooklyn Bridge…fascinating. Only those who lived the streets…who traveled the back alleys of the Big Apple and lived and breathed within its walls know that this glass, steel, and stone glamour has a dark side…a _very_ dark side.

One such man stood against the wall of a building on the corner of Pitkin and Euclid, his legs and feet, clothed in torn jeans and battered boots, crossed in front of him. His face was shaded under the brim of a dusty, travel-stained hat, and the collar of his denim jacket was pulled high, as if he felt the chill of a wind no other man could feel. From beneath his hat and collar, a couple sprigs of dark hair had escaped and lounged in the breeze. The blue smoke of a stale cigar drifted from him, carrying a dusty sweet scent deeper into the buildings that sprawled around him. He looked up briefly, as a man walked out of a nearby building, wearing a long green trench coat. As the man in the green coat began to saunter west down Pitkin, the man in the denim jacket seemed to give the air a sniff, put his hands in the pockets of his coat, and began following. The people who passed by seemed to pay the two no mind, as in this world it was best not to notice…not to get involved. Mystery wasn't a type of novel or television show…it was life.

The man in the green trench coat was Sable Mueller. Mueller was a transient…having been in his apartment on Pitkin for only around two months. He wasn't any ordinary visitor to Brooklyn, however…Mueller, like the city, had secrets of his own. Although some would speak of The Boogeyman, who preyed upon children who didn't go to sleep when their parents told them to, and the city would reveal the bodies of these victims, Mueller wasn't sharing his secret…that _he_ was one of this city's deepest and darkest. He would show his crooked teeth occasionally in more of a snarl than a smile when remembering his victims…remembering their skin tearing between his hands…their screams… What would give a normal man nightmares were Mueller's lullabies. The screams of the tortured and frightened were his mantra. No…Mueller was definitely no ordinary visitor…he was a hunter…and the game here was very good.

Mueller made his way down Pitkin, walking beneath the highway and up to the Brooklyn Children's Museum. Here he stopped, reaching out and feeling for it…the telltale signs of someone calling to him…asking for his touch. He searched for a minute or two…and then he found it. It was a tremor in the air…the cold wetness of fear, the hot sizzle of anger. Mueller felt his heart racing and his adrenaline surging at the thought of the coming chase. The target of his search then came into view: A little girl had walked out of the museum, crying and looking around frantically. Mueller walked up to her, and kneeled down. He could smell her blood…taste her fear…he was so caught up in his swirl of emotions that he almost devoured her on the spot.

"Little girl…is something wrong?" His voice was a rumble…course and dry, as if he had been thirsting for days.

Her tiny black shoes with shiny buckles and white knee-highs, red dress with white belt and matching gloves, brown hair and hazel eyes…she was a vision of sweet innocence. She hesitated for only a moment then looked back to the man in front of her.

"My mommy…I can't find her…I think she left me." Sobs and hiccupping tears followed.

"There, there…come now, come with me and we'll find her." Mueller lowered his hand to take the little girl's, and they walked together back toward Pitkin Avenue. As the odd couple rounded into an alley, Mueller reached down, and touched the little girl's cheek. The little girl hissed with a sharp intake of breath, and then went rigid. The man known as Mueller started to smile then furrowed his brow and turned his head, just in time to see a figure hurtling towards him with outstretched hands. There hadn't been a sound…but Mueller had felt a wave of anger and hatred so intense that it had broken his contact with the girl's mind. For the first time in his adult life, Mueller went still with fright.

The figure coming towards the would-be killer flashed a wicked smile, as if he could sense his prey's fear.

Logan, the X-Man known as Wolverine, was no stranger to evil. He had done battle with the worst of villains…some of the worst dregs of society, man _and_ mutant kind. When Logan had bent over the body of Chelsea Ling a month ago, his keen smell had picked up the smell of fear…and evil. Never had someone been as afraid as 8 year old Chelsea had been…and never had there been a man as evil as the one who'd murdered her. So vile had the crime been, Logan had been almost unable to pick up any other scents to help him find the killer. For a month now, Logan had been searching. Following the same leads as the police, asking the same questions of the same people, he had been more thorough in his investigation…and intimidation. Logan had always been of the opinion that there was no living person whom he couldn't get to talk…you just had to know how to get through to them. One of his first interrogations had given up the name of Sable Mueller…and Logan had hunted until he found him.

Mueller was a wanderer, never sticking to one place for too long, and from Jersey, where he'd killed Chelsea, the X-Man had tracked him here. Within seconds of being downwind from Mueller, Logan had known that he was the man he'd been searching for. The moment Logan had been waiting for had presented itself when Mueller had chosen little Katie Lambert as his next victim.

Mueller was slammed against the brick wall of the alley where he'd taken little Katie, his air cut off as a hand stronger than any he'd known squeezed his windpipe shut. Mueller looked into the eyes of his attacker, and realized that they were the eyes of an animal, rabid…feral…fearless.

A scream filled the alleyway, and both men looked. The little girl had regained the use of her legs, and had fled the alley screaming.

Sable Mueller had other secrets than just being a murderer…he was also a mutant. With but a touch, Mueller could poison a person, causing their worst nightmares to come to life within their own mind. It was fear and other negative emotions that sustained him…gave him more power and kept him alive. Mueller used his powers then, on the man…or animal…attacking him. His assailant responded with a howl, a guttural, primordial scream that was rage instead of fear. Mueller pulled two knives from the sides of his belt. With one, he eviscerated the arm holding him to the wall, and with the other, slashed the throat of his assailant. A few twists and turns landed three more stabs into his opponent and then the killer was on his feet and running from the alley, coughing to catch his stolen breath.

Logan's world filled with images from his past, his enemies swarmed around him. In rage, he began fighting. Lady Deathstrike was the first to land a blow, one that dropped his arm to his side. Before his healing factor could mend his arm, Sabertooth tore at his throat. Omega Red pierced his stomach, Magneto drove steel through his side, and Kitty Pride slipped a sword through his ribs. The X-Man known as Wolverine dropped to the ground…unable to continue fighting…looking to his prize student…the girl he'd taught to be a Ninja…the girl he'd loved as a daughter, as she laughed alongside his enemies. Everything went black…and Logan faded into a world of nightmares.


	2. Guiding Light

**Chapter 2: Guiding Light**

"Professor, what's wrong?"

The voice had been that of Jubilee, one of Professor Charles Xavier's students. "It's Logan…I feel that he is in danger…pain…waves of pain and suffering are coming from him."

"Wolvie? Where is he? We have to help him!" Jubilation Lee was on her feet, ready to run for the door.

"Calm down, Jubilee…I don't know where he is…but I have my suspicions about what fate has befallen him. I must go to Cerebro now."

With that, Charles Xavier took a last sip of his tea and moved his wheelchair from behind his desk, and through his school to a room he'd visited many times.

Pain…intense…unending…like none he'd experienced before. Logan was assaulted over and over again by his worst enemies…by people he'd loved and lost…people he'd failed to protect…friends he'd thought he could trust. In the alley, Logan's body was healing…his throat mending, his punctured heart pumping blood, his liver and kidney functioning again. However, in his head, the poison administered by Sable Mueller was causing Logan to relive all of his most painful moments in life, and his healing factor was far too busy keeping his body alive to purge the poison. From the depths of his mind came a voice.

"Logan…Logan?"

"P…Prof…Chuck?" Logan's mind swirled images around him, each hallucination causing him pain in some way, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally.

"Focus, Wolverine. You have been poisoned with a secretion from the mutant you have been in pursuit of. You _must _focus beyond your pain. I will help guide you to where you need to be."

Logan forced his thoughts back…back to when he'd started his hunt…to reflect on what he'd been trying to accomplish.

Westchester. Home of Professor Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. A bright place, full of the hopes and dreams of children hoping to some day fit in and find a place in a world that fears and hates their kind…a school for mutants.

For years Charles Xavier had worked to help young mutants learn and control their powers, so that they could use their powers for the betterment of life and society. One such potential student had come to the notice of Professor X by way of Cerebro; a young girl named Chelsea Ling. Chelsea's parents had immigrated to New Jersey from China with her and her older brother. Myong Ling had been one of China's top nuclear physicists, and had no trouble finding a good paying career in the United States.

As gifted as Mr. Ling had been, however, he had not been prepared for the abilities his daughter would begin to exhibit at the age of eight. Chelsea had been able to mend the bodies of living creatures. She had first exhibited this ability when her cat had been hit by a car out in front of their home. The car had broken the cat's back, and it was to be put down. As Chelsea had held the cat and cried on the way to the veterinarian, the feline had undergone a miraculous recovery. To the vet and the Ling's, it appeared as if the cat had never been injured at all.

A week later, when Chelsea's brother was nearly burned to death at a friend's house from a fire caused when the boys' fireworks had gone awry, the Ling's had confirmed what they had believed since the incident with their daughter's cat. Chelsea had touched her brother, and his wounds had mended in front of her startled parents and neighbors.

Professor Xavier had found Chelsea Ling because of her mental anguish over her abilities…over her parents' and brother's fear of how she would be accepted…over the fear that they could again be the target of a persecution similar to the kind that had driven them from their native country. However, another man had also sensed Chelsea's dark emotions, and by the time Professor Xavier had gotten to the Ling's, the little girl was dead. She had been stabbed to death.

Something about Chelsea's death had bothered Professor Xavier…something about the look of fear locked upon her face at death…about the waves of dark emotion that had remained in and around the scene of the crime. Xavier had been so disturbed he had called Logan to investigate. Logan's animal keen instincts and senses had confirmed the professor's suspicions, and the X-Man known as Wolverine had been sent to find this man who had preyed upon the little girl, Chelsea Ling.

"Be careful, Wolverine…I don't know who or what we are dealing with here…but whatever he…or _it_ is…is definitely motivated by something more sinister than you or I could ever imagine."

"I've got his sinister right here." Wolverine had popped his claws and growled, spitting to get the taste from his mouth. "Smell's a little muddled…but I'll find him…and I'll send him back to wherever he came from in a bag."

"I did not contact you to be an assassin…simply to find answers. Where will you begin, Logan?"

"The river…the guy that did this stinks of it…sewage…dead fish…waste chemicals…" Logan trailed off…wondering where to start his search.

"Your senses are without question the greatest I've ever seen, Logan, but even you said yourself that the smells were muddled."

"Look, Chuck, you may have never lived the streets, but even you know that when somebody new comes around…they don't go unnoticed. Someone's gotta know what was goin' on with this guy…someone had to have seen somebody suspicious. I think I may even know where to start askin' first." Logan looked to Xavier for a moment then asked, "Why don't you just find this guy with Cerebro?"

"Just as your senses are clouded by the different emotions that have been experienced here, so are mine by the waves of pain and fear…so much so that even my Cerebro enhanced mind becomes clouded and confused when trying to focus upon the emotions I've detected here. I'm afraid your…skills…are the only hope we have of ever finding out what really happened to Chelsea Ling. I shall follow your progress telepathically, and help whenever I can. Be careful, Wolverine..." Professor Xavier turned to leave, then hesitated a moment.

"Whatcha thinkin, Prof?" Logan lit a cigar and began sniffing the air.

"You may find it beneficial to pay a visit to the police department here. There is a detective who has been assigned to Chelsea's case…who may be able to guide you in a more specific direction."

"How do ya know we can trust the guy?"

"**She** was a student of mine…long ago."

"She?" Wolverine puffed from his cigar and grinned. "Mutie?"

"A minor manifestation of psychic ability…she could read the emotions of any person around her…feel their most primal instincts. I imagine she would enjoy meeting you, Logan." Professor Xavier smiled, pleased with his subtle, but friendly, banters with Wolverine.

Logan's grin remained for a moment as he continued to search for clues, then dropped as Xavier's comment finally sunk in. The X-Man furrowed his brow and "hmphed" under his breath as Professor Xavier began moving back to his limo to return to the mansion.

"Hey, Chuck, do me a favor."

"Yes, Logan?"

"Next time you want me to sniff out something for you, drink water or coffee before you show up…that tea stuff always throws off my nose a bit."

"I'll keep that in mind, Logan."

The X-Man smiled. It hadn't been much, but the true satisfaction came when Logan's nose picked up the smell of peppermint.


	3. A Bite Out Of Crime

**Chapter 3: A Bite Out Of Crime**

Logan had taken Professor Xavier's advice, driving to the police station of the jurisdiction in charge of Chelsea Ling's murder. He kicked the stand down on his Harley and leaned off the bike, snatching the key as he swung his leg over.

"There's a helmet law around here." An officer was peering at Logan from where he was getting ready to slide into his patrol car.

"Don't worry, bub." Logan tapped on the top of his head with a knuckled fist. "The helmet's built in." The X-Man shot the officer a wink and proceeded up the steps of the police building.

"Damn bikers." The officers drove off, not bothering to give the hairy denim clad man another thought.

Inside the station, there was a general hum of excitement. Logan sniffed and wrinkled his nose in disgust. More fear. There were other smells. Stale donuts, two-day old coffee, sweat, perfume, cologne, blood, tears, even wet dog…but the general air was one of fear. Sometimes Logan loved that smell…he even missed it…but when it was the fear brought on by tragedy or death…it just stank.

Logan listened intently for a moment, heard the voice of a woman issuing orders, and began walking.

"Excuse me, sir." A gruff voice halted Logan. He turned to see an older officer with gray hair and piercing blue eyes standing behind the front desk. "Can I help you? You can't just go walking back there. Is' a good way to get shot." There was a hint of Irish in the man's speech…a slight rolling of his "r" and an unpracticed lack of "ng" in some of his words.

"Ya think I could talk to the detective in charge o' the Ling murder?"

"And why would you be wanting to do that?" The gray haired officer grew agitated, and Logan smelled more fear.

"I might have some information for her…might even be able ta help."

"Wait up here…I'll call her down."

Logan obliged the old cop, and moved to sit in one of the ancient metal and vinyl chairs in the waiting room. Someone had urinated on one of them at one point in time…someone who'd had too much to drink. Another chair had been sliced open and had been used to hide a bag of marijuana. Logan avoided the chair that had doubled as a toilet, and helped himself to the chair used as a stash. He then thumbed through the magazines and pamphlets. Finally deciding to read about the effects of Methamphetamines on the brain, Logan had crossed his legs and read no more than three sentences when a woman's voice drew him away from his police literature. "Can I help you?"

Logan held up a pamphlet that had been sitting on the table. It showed a pop star with a stern look pointing a finger and bright red letters underneath said, "Just Say No!"

"Yeah, whatever happened to MacGruff the crime dog? I always did prefer taking a bite out of crime to singin' in the rain."

"Did you come to sing, Mr….?"

"Name's Logan…and, no, I came to bite." Logan tossed down the pamphlet and stood up. "Might want to replace some o' yer furniture. Someone marked that one." Logan cocked a thumb in the direction of the urine soaked chair, and began walking in the direction the Detective had gestured.

"Did you come to take a bite out of interior decorating faux pas?"

"Yeah, I'm also a big time clothing designer. I love the 'Gap vs. Goodwill' look you got goin' on."

"Touché!" The woman smiled as she closed the door to her office behind her. "It's rare that I talk with someone who's a bigger ass than myself."

"Lady…you don't know the half of it." Logan seated himself in one of the chairs in front of the detective's desk. The plaque listed her as Detective Scaggs.

"As much as I'd love to continue this fascinating exchange, Mr. Log-"

"-just Logan…no Mister." Logan interrupted quickly.

"Fine, Logan, this is the part where you tell me about the Ling girl."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Doesn't work that way, sport." Detective Scaggs came around the desk and leaned in close enough for Logan to smell sweat and a vanilla lotion. Logan hated vanilla…however, Detective Scaggs wasn't afraid, and Logan admired that. "Now, you tell me what you know, or I lock your ass up for obstruction."

"Doesn't work that way, darlin, I'm here because we have a mutual friend that wants this case solved." Logan raised the bottom of his shirt and jacket, revealing his belt buckle.

Detective Scaggs gasped when she saw the "X" displayed proudly on the buckle. "You're one of Xavier's…"

"Bingo, girlie." Logan pulled out a stub of a cigar and lit it. "Now that you know who sent me and why, maybe we can scratch each other's backs."

"What do you propose?"

"We tell each other secrets…you first." Logan grinned and let off a plume of blue smoke.

"As of now, you know what I know. Male suspect, 8 year old Chinese immigrant victim."

"Eight year old, Chinese _mutant_ immigrant victim," Logan added.

"Yes…well…there's that. Do you think this crime was racially motivated?"

"Look, lady…I ain't into makin' guesses, that's a job for the cops. I'm about cold hard facts. Sniffin' things out."

"What kinds of things?"

"Things like this guy was from near the river…maybe even a rat."

"A dockworker?" Detective Scaggs grabbed a pen and scribbled furiously on a pad sitting on her desk.

"Maybe…not sure. We need to get down to the docks…or some of the flats near the river…and start asking questions."

"What questions, Logan?"

"The same questions you cops ask…only, we ask 'em **my** way."

"What's **your** way, exactly?" Scaggs raised her eyebrow.

Logan's answer was another mouthful of smoke, this time trickling out between a grin that showed all of his teeth and swirled up and around the two raised points of his hair…making him look almost devilish.

Detective Scaggs couldn't suppress a shiver.

The dock area was a run down area…a concentrated mass of poverty and misery. If anyone wanted to hide…or be forgotten, this was the area to do it in. During the day the docks were a busy place…but at night, the area gave off an aura of mystery and danger.

"So where's this 'informant' of yours?" Logan was growing impatient. His nose had already confirmed that the man he was hunting had been here right before the murder of Chelsea Ling.

"He'll be here. Tommy doesn't want to get on my bad side." Detective Scaggs checked her watch again.

Logan stuck a hand to the inside of his jacket to pull out a fresh cigar, then paused. Through the stench of the river and unwashed bodies and trash around him, Logan smelled it. It was a bitter-sweet smell…like coffee or sour candy. Although it was a pleasant sensation, there was an underlying less pleasurable sensation.

It was the smell of danger Logan had picked up. The smell of someone planning an attack or ambush.

"Hey, lady…do me a favor and take cover." Logan pulled his hands from his pockets and bent his knees into a battle stance, both his arms held wide of his body, his fists clenched. His ears strained for the slightest noise…his nose periodically sniffing the air…his eyes searching the surrounding shadows.

Detective Scaggs did as she was instructed. Being a student of Xavier's had taught her long ago to trust in the abilities of those under Professor X's expert tutelage…and she had heard and seen enough from this Logan character to realize that _he_ was the expert here.

Then, Logan heard something. There was a click, then a 'pop' followed by a whistling sound, as if something was hurtling towards him, tearing through the air at him. The mutant whipped his head to the side and brought his hand into the air in time to catch something in his hand. For a moment, his hand throbbed with pain, and fresh blood blossomed in his palm. As quickly as the sensation had started, it was gone. The hole in his hand closed, and Logan was left holding the remains of a rifle bullet. Logan grunted his disapproval, and turned towards where the shot had come from. "Stay down…someone's playin' Duck Hunt…and we're the ducks." Logan heard another shot and allowed it to strike him in the chest, where it stopped at his breastbone directly above his heart. Another bounced off of his forehead, making a "BWING!" noise as it ricocheted off of his adamantium laced skull. This last shot brought the mutant to his knees, and finally to the ground.

After nearly an hour, Detective Scaggs was just about ready to come out from her hiding place to check on the fallen mutant when she heard voices.

"That him?"

"Nah, somebody else whacked that guy. Of course that's him, you idiot."

"Where's the girl?"

"I saw her duck behind that dumpster."

"Well…the boss says we gotta protect Tommy…so that's what we're gonna do."

Scaggs' heart was beating fast. She was getting ready to betray her position and fire when the voices changed from hushed confidence, to shouting and screaming. The detective stole a glimpse of what was happening.

Slaughter. The man who'd introduced himself as "just Logan" to Detective Scaggs was back on his feet with, miraculously enough, not a scratch on him. He had three claws of some dull colored metal protruding from the end of each hand and had already impaled one of his assailants. The other four men present began emptying their weapons into the now very much alive Logan. To Scaggs, at the moment he looked more like an animal than a man.

Blood had run down his face and had soaked his shirt. The first man to be impaled had spouted more blood onto Logan's legs and feet. Only after the second man's head was severed did she realize that bullets weren't stopping the mutant…only enraging him further. The third man screamed as his hands were taken off at the wrists and Logan continued his swing into a cartwheel that planted both of his boots against the side of the man's face and jaw. Another began to reload and looked up in time for the bezerker mutant's legs to wrap around his neck. Three claws popped out of the back of the man's head, and the fifth and final gunman was left staring at half of a 9mm as it was cut in half while Logan landed from atop his latest victim's shoulders.

The last man standing dropped to his knees and began to beg Logan.

"Please…PLEASE!" He looked around him, at his friends that had died or were dying from wounds caused from a man who'd been shot in the hand, heart, and head not 45 minutes ago. "Don't kill me…I…I got…I got a family!" The man pulled out his wallet and began holding pictures up to Wolverine, who was now walking slow circles around the man.

"You're Tommy?" Logan was moving in closer now, only the white of his eyes and teeth showing through the mask of blood he now wore. His hair, which Scaggs had thought crazy before, now splayed wildly from his head in some sections, and were plastered with blood to his head in others.

_A wolf, _Scaggs thought to herself, _he looks like a wolf._

"Yes…I…I'm Tommy." The man sobbed. "Please…please d…don't kill me…"

"He won't kill you, Tommy." Detective Scaggs walked out from behind the dumpster. "I won't let him if you tell him what he wants to know. I'll protect you."

"Oh…GOD…I'll talk…I'll tell you anything…ANYTHING! There are drugs on dock some docks, guns on others. Some have just hard cash! I'll give you a list…I'll write them dow-AAAHHHHHHH!" Tommy's rambling was cut off as a claw was stabbed through the top of his hand, pinning it to the ground.

"Shut up, bub. I ask a question…you answer it. Got how this works?"

"Y…YES!" Tommy was crying…and had added some extra weight to his pants.

"You better talk fast, too…because you stink. I'm looking for a man who worked the docks…new guy…hasn't been here long. Might even be gone by now. May have even talked about The Boogeyman."

"Th…the….boogeyman…?"

Logan responded to this question by slowly letting out one of his other claws. It made a menacing metal on metal sound as it inched closer to Tommy's flesh. The wounded man began to blubber, and let a wave of urine flowed from his bladder.

"You keep wettin' the bed, bub, and I'm gonna cut it off…got it?"

"Sable! Sable Mueller! He worked for my uncle for a few months…told stories when we were all waitin' on the shipments…about The Boogeyman…that serial killer that gets kids! Said he was headin' to Brooklyn!"

"There, now…was that so hard?" Logan pulled his claws back in with a "SNAKT!" sound that sprayed Tommy with his own blood.

Tommy grabbed his wounded limb and rolled into a fetal position, crying.

"You sure do have a way with interrogations, Logan…" Scaggs wrinkled her nose in disgust at Tommy. "You frightened him…bad. It was all I could do to keep from wetting _my_self."

"Then don't try to get inside the heads o' people I'm stickin'. I got no pity for him…drug runner. Seen and smelled kids dead or dyin o' that stuff he sells 'em. I shoulda went ahead and popped a claw through his brain…done the world a favor."

"You can't kill them all, Logan."

"Doesn't mean I can't try, though."

"You hurt, Logan?"

"Nothin' that won't heal on its own."

"You're gonna need some new clothes…where're you staying?"

"'cross the tunnel…a burnt out 6 story on 55 Crosby Street in SOHO."

"Need a lift?"

"Nah. I'll ride." Logan tore off a section of his shirt that wasn't blood-soaked and mopped his face as best he could. "Thankfully the place has running water."

"I can't go with you, Logan…it's out of my jurisdiction. I'll call Brooklyn and let them know what I've found…"

"Fine…but if I find him first…" Logan left the threat unspoken.

"Just be careful…and tell the professor I said 'hello'".

"Yep." Logan hopped on his hog and pushed up the kickstand with his heel, turned the key, and hopped on the starter.

"Let me know how it turns out!" Detective Scaggs backed away as the Logan revved his motorcycle.

"Read the obituary…when you see Sable Mueller, you know it's over." With that, the mutant rode off, his motorcycle rumbling out of sight.


End file.
